


Always Call First (You Never Know Who's Gonna Be Over)

by emocezi



Series: Losers/Leverage Xover Verse [2]
Category: Leverage, The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward morning after, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocezi/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hardison learns an important lesson about why he needs to always call before he comes over.  Also, there's naked Jensen.  :D :D :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Call First (You Never Know Who's Gonna Be Over)

Hardison whistled as he unlocked Elliot's door, fully prepared to nag his friend into a bro-day filled with Call of Duty and take-out pizza. After the last case they'd finished with, Elliot had seemed a little more stressed then usual, and no one could pull him out of his angry-funk. Which was a little weird, the guy had a soft spot for Parker and even she'd been snapped at and shoved to the side when the hitter stormed out of Nate's apartment in a huff.

"Elliot? You here man? I've got Call of Duty: Black Ops and a fully loaded pizza with your name on it." He paused, waiting to hear the familiar grumble of Elliot, bitching about not entering another man's apartment without calling first to alert the apartment owner. "Elliot?"

Nothing. Not a sound of motion in the house. Hardison twitched, glancing over his shoulder, because it wouldn't be the first time Elliot snuck up on him and flipped him onto the ground in the attempt to teach him a lesson about not calling first.

There was a slight rustle of fabric from the bedroom and Hardison grinned. Elliot had probably picked up some hot little number at the bar. Women were always throwing themselves at Elliot, the man would have to be stupid to not take some of them up on their offers. Stupid or gay.

Hardison rolled his eyes at his own twisted logic. No one was more manly then Elliot. He had testosterone and rage flowing through his veins in the place of red blood cells and plasma. There was no way in the nine levels of hell a man like Elliot Spencer was gay.

He pushed open the bedroom door, figuring he'd take the chance to leer at the girl and mess up Elliot's chance at some morning-after sex. It wasn't often he was given the chance to cockblock a member of the team, no, most of the time they were all cockblocking him.

The hacker stopped, staring at the figure laying face down on the bed. This was not what he'd expected, and unless Elliot had taken to dating some very tall, very manly women. Then that was NOT a woman in his bed.

The person twitched minutely, then raised his arm to grab for a pair of dorky, Harry Potter-esque glasses sitting on the bed-side table, just beside the lamp.

Holy Fuck-sticks.

"What the fuck are you staring at?"

"Holy shit. Holy _shit_. I know you. You're the guy. The apology-steak guy." Hardison babbled.

The guy shifted, wincing as he turned and propped himself against the headboard. He looked like he'd had a rough night, brusises and bite marks littering his skin with the mother of all hickies maring his collarbone. There were rings of small, finger shaped bruises around the man's arms and wrists, like someone had fought to keep him down.

Hardison's brain flatlined, as he attempted to make himself accept that those marks had come from Elliot. That Elliot had slept with this guy. Though sleep hadn't seemed to be on their agenda as it looked like the guy had been mauled by a pack of rabid wolves.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." The guy muttered, his tone of voice snippy and Hardison flushed from the roots of his hair to his toes, thankful for his darker skin tone to hide the blush. He hadn't realized he'd been staring.

Fuck. Fuck. If Ellliot wasn't here it meant that he'd be back any minute now. Hardison had almost blown a clean window of escape by staring at the naked man in Elliot's bed. _There was a naked man in Elliot's bed_

"Sorry man. Sorry. I'm gonna...I'm gonna go now. I'll just...sorry." He turned, froze and squeaked, staring down into Elliot's supremly pissed off face.

"Hardison. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I....there was...Call of Duty....pizza.....um.....I'm gonna go."

"Sit down." Elliot shoved Hardison, hard enough to send him stumbling back, knees catching on the edge of the bed. "Now, lets try this again. What the _fuck_ are you doing here."

"Hey, no killing team mates before breakfast."

"Shut up Jensen."

"Fuck you. You made up that rule in Germany after the thing with the donkey and Cougar belly dancing on the table."

"That was different."

"Fuck no it wasn't. Go make me breakfast, kitchen bitch."

"Jensen."

"...Go make me breakfast kitchen bitch, _please_?"

"Put some fucking pants on."

"Yes _sir_." Jensen grinned at Hardison and winked. _Winked_. "He likes it when you call him sir, makes him feel important." Hardison whipped his head around to stare back at Elliot in something akin to horror. Captain Reynold's voice rang through his head in a faint _I can't know that_.

Elliot looked like he was blushing. There was angry-red-in-the-face. There was about-to-stroke-out-red-in-the-face. There was mildly-sun-burned-red-in-the-face But Hardison had never seen oh-my-god-stop-talking-you're-embarassing-me-red-in-the-face.

"Dammit Jensen. Hardison, go set the table."

"...no, I can just go. I think I'll just go. I wanna go-."

" _Now_."

"-set the table." Hardison managed, fleeing the bedroom and ending up in Elliot's kitchen as the hitter slammed his bedroom door. There was a loud yelp and the sound of someone hitting the floor. Hardison bet it was Jensen, cause no one took Elliot down. No one.

The door opened seconds later and Jensen strolled out in Marvin the Martian boxers and a grin, ignoring the glare Elliot was sending him from where he was sprawled out on the bedroom floor.

"Wait...how did you....did you knock him down?"

"Hmm?" Jensen turned to face Hardison from where he was grabbing at the grocery bag Elliot had put on the counter.

"You..knocked Elliot down?"

"Yeah. He's not that tough."

"Um. Yes he is."

"Well to _you_ maybe."

"Hey." Hardison puffed up indignantly, glaring at apology-steak guy. Just because he wasn't some G.I.Joe wannabe didn't mean he didn't have his own skill-set.

"Sorry dude. I didn't mean to offend you." Jensen grinned and ducked from the head slap Elliot aimed at the back of his head. "Once you've seen Elliot wearing a coconut br-" Elliot wrapped an arm around Jensen's neck and yanked him down, slapping a hand over Jensen's mouth and effectively silencing him.

"Shut up and sit down."

"Mffff hmmm aaahhmmmm."

"No. Sit down."

"Mffff uhhnnggg eeerrrmmmmuugh."

"Sit down and I'll get you some juice."

"Mfff."

"So." Hardison started tentatively as Elliot shoved Jensen into a chair and grabbed a glass from he cupboard, filled it with juice and handed it to Jensen. "Why didn't you tell me you were...um...gay?"

"I'm bi. And it was none of your damn business." Elliot paused, cocking his head. "An' you never asked."

"You should always ask." Jensen agreed with a sharp nod of his head. "Then shit like this doesn't happen and surprise you. I know exactly which teams my guys play for."

"It doesn't count if the teams come to you." Elliot countered with a sneer.

"Hey, you wanna argue with Cougs about sleeping with everything that has a pulse, that's your prerogative. See, I only tried that once, and after I woke up in bed with him, I realized that he's got magic powers."

"He does not. You're just easy."

"I'm only mostly easy." Jensen argued, crossing his arms over the top of the chair and leaning his chin on his forearms, watching Elliot move around the kitchen with relative ease.

"So...is this a thing?" Hardison asked, slowly taking off his messenger bag and setting it on the floor. Normally he'd help Elliot cook, but today he felt awkward, like his rhythm had been thrown off by the introduction of a new drumline to the percussion section.

"Is what a thing?" Jensen asked, moving his head to observe Hardison who made a hand motion that could only mean one thing. "Oh, the sex thing? I dunno. Elliot, is it a thing?"

"More then three times is a thing, so yes, it's a thing."

"Okay, just checking. Sometimes I think things are things, but then they aren't things. I dunno, I'm bad with things that aren't computers. Now, give me a IOCELL netDISK with self modifying algorythms and I can have that bitch bent over and begging for it, panties around her knees, in fourty-five minutes flat."

"Why do you always have to make it sound like your goddamn computer stuff is people?" Elliot asked with a pained expression.

"Wait. _Wait_. You're a hacker? He's a _hacker_?" Hardison turned from Jensen to Elliot, gesturing wildly. "I thought I was the only hacker you knew."

Elliot shrugged and pulled a knife out of his chopping block, slicing a bell pepper open and slicing it into strips. An onion followed it, then a couple of mushrooms, all being poured into a pan heating on the stove.

"Okay, Elliot. Be honest. Who's better?" Jensen snorted loudly, then held up his hands, looking as innocent as possible.

"Sorry dude, sorry."

"Elliot."

"Jensen's better." Elliot muttered, already knowing he'd never hear the end of it from Hardison. He was probably already working on a speech about betrayal and being a team player.

"I...I hacked the facial recognition software for the FBI and _he's_ a better hacker?"

"How long did it take ya?"

"Six months man. I just...I get no appreciation."

"Naw man, six months is perfectly respectable for a civie. Gotta make sure the feebies don't get wind of any shenanigans. Man, why does no one use that word anymore? It's such a great word."

"A... _civie_."

"It's short for civilian." Elliot muttered.

"I know what it's short for." Hardison snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at Jensen. "What's your best time?"

"For what?" Jensen asked, pure curosity in his voice.

"For what he asks. For.....for..." Hardison gestured wildly in the air, scrambling for a target off the top of his head. "For the CIA."

"The CIA....the C.I.A." Jensen rubbed a hand across his goatee in thought. "That one took about....okay so I got a little bit kidnapped-"

"How do you get a _little_ bit kidnapped?"

"It was part of the plan, and Cougs was watching me the whole time. Anyway, got a little bit kidnapped. Guy punched me for like an hour, gave me a laptop, broke one of my feet so I couldn't get away. So....I think it was like a day and a half. But it kinda goes blurry in there cause they kept stepping on my foot like the pain would make me work faster. Fucking amatures."

"Where was that?" Elliot wanted to know, like this was all in a days work.

"Syria. Had someone yelling at me in Russian, and another guy yelling at me in Pashtuu. Man, those two languges do not mix. Let me tell you. Luckily, I can say 'your mother fucks camels' in both of them. Gotta thank Clay for the Russian."

"Doesn't he have a Masters in Russian literature?"

"Yeah. Most useless fucking degree out there. Good for swearing. And that one time we were in....that place with the Russians." Jensen finished weakly when Elliot gave him the hairy-eyeball.

"It took you a day and a half to hack the CIA while you were being tortured." Hardison muttered weakly, fumbling for a chair.

"That wasn't torture." Jensen snorted. "Roque's been way meaner when he thinks it's past my bed time."

"What exactly is past your bed time?" Elliot asked, cracking eggs into the pan and giving it a quick shake while everything sizzled.

"So far? Five days is the max. When Roque's not around to bully me into sleeping I can push it to seven. But then I kinda start to hallunicate, though that could be a byproduct of the redbull and ephedra tabs."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Hardison's voice squeaked up a notch.

"Well yeah. But Cougs is a medic."

"No he isn't."

"Okay fine, Cougs has medic _training_ but he isn't certified. Better?" Elliot nodded and divided the omelet up onto three plates. "Geez. Is he a pissy bitch with you too?"

"Always." Hardison grinned at Jensen and managed to half dodge the slap aimed at the back of his head. "So, how long have you guys known each other?"

"Like....ten...ish....years." Jensen said, squinting at his food and making a thinky-face. "Met him when he worked for Damien Moreau. That smug European prick. I heard you guys got him put away."

"Yeah, we did. So....um...?" Jensen held up a finger and shook it at Hardison while Elliot smirked at him from across the table.

"Nope. Friends don't tell their friends' friends about the bad stuff they did when they worked for a megalomaniac with a fetish for Italian suits and sexy Mexicanos."

"You ever called Cougar that to his face?'

"Fuck no, you think I'm stupid. It'd be like telling Roque we all know that he likes Ballet. He'd kill us all with a smile and a song in his heart."

"Who's Roque." Hardison asked, shooting Elliot a 'help me' look when Jensen set down his fork and grabbed his hand, petting his wrist.

"He's a bad bad man. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I'll make sure you never have to meet that asshole."

"Stop calling him pretty. He's gonna start wanting special attention." Elliot's smirk edged up a notch towards shit-eating and Jensen batted his eyelashes at the hitter.

"He can be pretty too. I'm not taking up a monoply on the prettyness. Tell him he's pretty Elliot."

"No."

"Oh Em Gee. I forgot how much of a diva you were."

"I forgot you were a twelve year old girl."

"I forgot how hot that gets you. Perv."

"I don't wanna be pretty." Hardison muttered, wondering what they put in the water to make everyone Elliot knew completly fucking nuts.

"Of course you don't. Tell him he's ruggedly handsome."

"Fuck no."

"You don't get to be the _only_ ruggedly handsome boy at the ball Elliot. It doesn't work that way. Plus, somewhere out there, Cougar is twitching, because he thought he was the only ruggedly handsome guy. But Cougs is more like...plain sexy. Not that your not sexy, just..he's got this....je ne sais quoi.

"You keep talking about Cougar at my table and I'm gonna start thinking I didn't do my job last night."

"Okay woah. I should really get going now. Cause you guys seem like you need some alone time and I don't wanna get in the way of that. Thanks for breakfast Elliot, it was awesome. Nice meeting you again Jensen. I'll just...let myself out." Hardison babbled, grabbing for his messanger bag and scrambling for the door while Jensen and Elliot glared at each other from across the table.

Hardison shut the door behind him, hunching his shoulders and hurrying down the hall to the elevator when he heard something crash in Elliot's apartment. There was no way in hell he was getting in the middle of _that_. His long dormant self preservation skills telling him it would be bad for his health, and his psyche.


End file.
